


Crescendo: The Trials And Death Of A Shadow Elf

by MaleSylph



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Lich, Other, Ravenloft, Shadar-Kai, Shadow Plane, Shadowfell, Undead, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 02:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17737676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaleSylph/pseuds/MaleSylph
Summary: In the dark dimension of the Shadowfell, an optimistic composer named Kravitz tries to brighten up the gloomy town of New Shadar-Kaington with his music. Little does he know what's about to befall his town, and even less what destiny has in store for him.





	Crescendo: The Trials And Death Of A Shadow Elf

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for day one of Kravitz week (prompt: Kravitz's Past), but I am actually not done with it yet. I'll add more later. Warning: This story requires a LOT of prior D&D lore knowledge. I think I explain enough of it, but some of it might need some extra research. The Shadar-Kai and Raven Queen stuff is 5e lore, [SPOILER] but Myrkul and Vecna are from older editions. You might also need to know a little about cockney sayings.

The elven city of New Elfington was built on the ruins of Old Elfington. Old Elfington was destroyed because no one understood why it was called that in the first place. This was the only reason for that town’s destruction, nothing more. Alas, nothing is as simple in the Shadowfell, the dark planar reflection of the Prime Material Plane. No one knew the reason for the name of Old Shadar-Kaington either, but it was destroyed in a much worse way. The city was crushed under a demonic invasion from the forces of the lich-god, Vecna. The army collided with Old Shadar-Kaington because it sat in the shadow of a tall, dark mountain, on top of which stood the Fortress of Memory, a great castle which housed the Raven Queen, the fallen elven goddess who was the bane of necromancy and keeper of many coveted forbidden secrets that Vecna desired. 

When Vecna’s undead armies had been fought off, damage had already been done to Old Shadar-Kaington. It was absolutely decimated, and it took decades to rebuild into New Shadar-Kaington, which is actually not all that long when compared to the lifespan of the Shadar-Kai, also known as Shadow Elves, the long-living inhabitants of New Shadar-Kaington, as well as the rest of the Raven Queen’s bleak kingdom. Since the attack, no assault from Vecna had been spotted, though there a zombie or two would occasionally be spotted towards the edge of town or in a dark alleyway, or a quasit found in someone’s cupboard, which could be easily squashed . Still, the Shadar-Kai were always paranoid, for they feared another invasion could happen at any moment. And besides, the Shadowfell held many other dangers besides the ones dispensed by the lich-god, so the elves were certainly busy. 

The Shadowfell was a bleak place, and the Shadar-Kai were a bleak people. They knew there was really no way to change any of this. They were cursed to serve under the Raven Queen for all eternity, cursed by both the Light and Dark Seldarine alike for the treason of helping the Raven Queen in her ascent to godhood, which she no held with mysterious motives and sometimes, what looked like downright insanity. And there was truly no possible way to brighten the dark reflection that was the Shadowfell so no one even tried. No one but one. His name was Kravitz.

Music was something that the Shadar-Kai brought over from the Prime Material Plane, and once entering their new quiet, gloomy domain, most abandoned it. Few still practiced it, and extremely little in their number was their much excitement in the craft. Kravitz, however, had been excited with it, and hoped he could use it to bring joy to his home plane. After suffering through unhelpful lesson after unhelpful lesson from many grumpy and uncaring teachers, Kravitz eventually mastered the province of music, mostly by teaching himself instead. The violin held a special place in his heart, but he was capable of playing all instruments. He wrote many joyous songs that went unappreciated by his peers, and he could only perform a few of them because he had written most of them for many, many instruments. Kravitz realized to perform these pieces, he would need to not work alone. He searched long and hard for anyone with a shred of hope like he did, but eventually, he was able to assemble an orchestra. None were as enthusiastic as he, but he would have to make do. Kravitz set aside his own instruments to instead pick up the conductor’s stick. He would not be the creator of uplifting music, but instead its harbinger and sheppard, who would control and bring it out to be enjoyed by the wider world. They practiced and practiced, and while in the beginning, little effort was put in, Kravitz eventually convinced his orchestra to put their souls into it, and they were finally able to create the souring harmony he had dreamed of. Now, to reveal it to the world, which was very much in need.  

Kravitz knew he needed some excuse to make a big event out of it, and his music would not be enough. He looked deep into the history of Old Shadar-Kaington, and was after a lot of searching, able to learn of an obscure, long forgotten elvish holiday from the time when the Shadar-Kai still lived on the Prime Material Plane and weren’t yet banished to the Shadowfell. He petitioned a festival on that day to the local government, and by some miracle, he managed it. A festival would be held, and Kravitz’s orchestra would perform one of his works. Even better, no one else signed up for the carnival. He had the whole town to himself.

The crowd began to take their seats. While Kravitz hoped for a joyous occasion, it did not appear so, as everyone wore drab, muted colors, and had a tired look on their face. He was surprised they even came at all. Kravitz was about to begin his introductory speech when the first strange event of many of that evening happened. From the direction of the Fortress of Memory, a sudden flock of ravens flew toward the town and perched themselves all around the stage. Kravitz recognized what this meant; the Raven Queen was watching. Apparently, Kravitz’s performance had caught more attention than he thought. This was important, he really needed to act the part. He should do something to show it, he thought. 

“‘Ullo, chaps,” Kravitz said in the most ridiculous cockney accent he could imagine. He didn’t do it on purpose. He  _ wanted _ to make his voice sound important, but he panicked, and that was what came out. He was about to slip back into his regular voice, but he saw the ravens were intently looking at him, and his mind raced. “What if the Raven Queen misinterprets that false accent as a lie?” he paranoidly thought. That would certainly be silly, but the Raven Queen was unpredictable and cruel. “Well, I’m in too deep now,” Kravitz concluded. He would continue on with the accent, just to not take any chances. This was a good plan, Kravitz thought. He continued with his speech. “I thank you all for coming. It’s a dark world we live in, so my only hope is to lighten it up for you with some music. I pray you will enjoy the pleasant chimes of the, uh, Aunt Joanna and the emotional, erm, Darby and Joan of the violin. But I suppose you’ll be the… Barnaby Rudge of that...” he followed the statement up with a nervous laugh, and turned towards the orchestra. He knew he overdid it with the accent. He pulled out a bunch of stupid phrases just for that which probably made no sense to anybody anyway. Had to keep up the act, though.

With a  _ rat-a-tat-tat  _ and a raise of his baton, the gloomy village of New Shadar-Kaington was filled with music. The piano chimed, the violin sung, the trumpet bellowed, all in the major key, and all guided by Kravitz. After that rather embarrassing speech, this control regained some of Kravitz’s confidence. It was a good thing he did not look back at the audience, for it would’ve been brought low again, for they did not seem to enjoy the concert. They didn’t hate it, but this monochrome dimension had left them too jaded to really relish in it. The ravens starred on, as though waiting for something. This became obvious soon enough.

From the far edge of town, there was an explosion. The music immediately stopped, and everyone turned to look towards the source. A house had been destroyed, and a massive, demonic pillar of flame emerged from it, and had not yet gone out. From it, a ominous figure rose. It was deathly thin, with flesh clinging to its bones, and it wore elaborate robes with many occult symbols adorning them. It lacked a physical eye and hand, and spectral light had replaced them both.

“ **FOOLISH MORTALS!** ” it screeched at the citizens, cackling. “ **YOU MAY HAVE DEFEATED ME IN THE PAST, BUT NOTHING CAN STOP MY SEARCH FOR KNOWLEDGE! A NECROMANCER FROM WITHIN YOUR MIDST HAS TRIED TO OBTAIN BUT A SLIVER OF MY POWER, BUT OF COURSE A WEAKLING COULD NOT HANDLE IT, AND IT WAS I WHO TOOK ADVANTAGE OF THEM! RAVENS, ELVES, LET YOUR ABSURD QUEEN KNOW THAT I, VECNA, GOD OF LICHES AND THE UNDEAD, THE ALMIGHTY LIBRARIAN, HAVE RETURNED!** ” 

From below Vecna, emerged many other enemies; all sorts of horrid demons and undead, even a few more weaker liches. The ravens took flight and began flying in circles above the doomed city. The elves abandoned the festival and ran for cover within their own homes. A few reemerged with weapons drawn and charged toward the horde. As this all occurred, Kravitz stood still, looking in horror on the encroaching nightmare, paralyzed. He watched in sheer terror as the defending warriors were cut down by the attackers, many torn to shreds and consumed by ferocious demons and zombies, only for their remaining parts to rise from the dead and join their ranks within seconds. Other soldiers were simply zapped to death by liches, their souls harvested to be used later in necromantic experiments, rituals, or even fuel to keep their current cursed yet powerful forms. Kravitz felt silent agony as he stood and watched these chaotic monsters tear down his beloved home, screaming with glee. Just when all seemed lost, something happened.

The ravens which had been circling the skies above harmlessly during this whole attack swooped down to the ground in front of Kravitz and flocked together. When they parted, there stood another lich-god. He wore dark robes, and his body seemed to consist of only bones. He reached out a skeletal hand, and summoned from the ether a long, sharp, very intimidating scythe. In front of him, stood the Raven Queen’s most devoted follower, the capturer and executioner of necromancers and the undead, the Grim Reaper himself. Kravitz muttered under his breath, “Myrkul...” The lich-god turned his head back to look at frightened conductor with a skeletal grin and confidently said, “Greetings, elf. You might want to go somewhere safe if you value your soul.” Then, it was as if he became a beam of darkness, and he dashed into the battlefield. With expertise perfected over the centuries, his scythe effortless sliced through the horde, cutting zombies to bits, creating craters in the chest of vampires, and reducing almighty demons and liches to mere ash. He stood in the now-barren field, cackling as he reveled in his victory, taking his victim’s souls and sending them to never ending imprisonment in the Eternal Stockade atop the Astral Sea. 

He then turned his attention skyward to the unholy godly threat still advancing on the city, who had only now realized that his numbers had dwindled, and flew up to him, his scythe ready to strike home. At the last second, Vecna reached out his spectral hand and cast  _ Mordenkainen’s Sword _ and parried with it. At a speed to fast for any mortal to comprehend, the two traded blows, their blades clashing ferociously. They slowed as Vecna got the upper hand, and with all his might, pushed his blade against Myrkul’s. Myrkul held on for a few moments more, but soon, his scythe was out of his hand and crashed into the ground right next to Kravitz. He was shocked to see the holy blade so close, and he felt compelled to reach out to it…

               Startled, Myrkul turned to look at his flung weapon, now miles below him. His skeletal grin was gone, he looked distraught. He turned back to his opponent, and before he knew it, Vecna, with a sneer, withdrew his spectral blade and cast  _ Bigby’s Hand _ and socked the Grim Reaper right in the skull, sending him plummeting towards the ground. As Kravitz realized that the impending crash of the lich-god would be in his direction, he quickly, without thinking, quickly grabbed the scythe and ran for cover. It was heavy in his hand, and so cold it burned his skin. Yet, miraculously, he managed.

Myrkul’s limp body shred the ground, creating a trail in the dirt from where his body drifted. As he came to a stop, paralyzed and barley conscious, Vecna descended downwards towards his fallen foe, chuckling as he did so. “Riddle me this, Reaper,” he condescendingly called to the lich. “What emotion do you manifest to keep your form?” Myrkul’s jaw was now unhinged, and he was badly bruised, so he could only respond with a grunt. Vecna reached out his phantasmal hand and cast a telepathic spell. “Ah,” he exclaimed after a moment. “Self-confidence, eh? You really were quite vain when you ascended all those decades ago. But now, Reaper, there is something I must tell you.” He redrew his illusory blade. “I think I’m the only ex-mortal who should be ascended.” And with that, Vecna delivered the coup de grâce, and the Grim Reaper Myrkul disintegrated into ash, finally defeated. Death had died. Vecna, now the lone lich-god, looked to the sky and laughed maniacally about his victory. “ **RAVEN** **QUEEN, NOTHING STAND BETWEEN YOUR COLLECTION OF KNOWLEDGE AND SOULS NOW! YOUR REAPER IS GONE! YOUR FORTRESS SHALL FALL!** ” 

As Vecna was once again about to take flight towards the top of the mountain, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his back. He had been pierced. He turned to look, and was met with two surprises. The first was it was the scythe of Vecna’s dispatched opponent, no longer in the ground but now being wielded. By whom was Vecna’s second surprise. Holding the blade was a scrawny, terrified looking shadar-kai. It was Kravitz. Though Vecna would certainly not admit it, he was honestly surprised the elf could carry such a weapon. It was quite strange. “ **FOOLISH MORTAL!** ” he bellowed. “ **DO YOU** **_REALLY_ ** **BELIEVE YOU CAN DEFEAT ME, THE LICH-GOD VECNA, KILLER OF DEATH? DID YOU NOT SEE WHAT I DID TO YOUR ALMIGHTY REAPER? YOU’VE SURELY DOOMED YOURSELF NOW!** ” Vecna turned so that the scythe left his skin and then caught it with his sword. The two exchanged blows, and Vecna was even more surprised that the shadar-kai could sustain this battle for as long as he had. He got a few cuts in on the mortal, which burned him like hell, yet he parried amazingly well, and even got in many strikes himself. 

Kravitz was more shocked than Vecna. Kravitz was never the type of person to start fights, and while the Shadowfell was a place dangerous enough everyone had to fight something almost weekly, Kravitz had never been in a fight against a foe like this, nor with a weapon like the one he wielded now. Yet, somehow, he was natural. Kravitz in very little time had a realization. In a way, combat with a blade is very similar to conducting. You move it to wherever it’s needed, to hit the right place and make the right sound, though the clash of metal against ectoplasm replaced instruments. He would raise it, lower it, go left to right. Change scale to minor. Major. Increase tempo. Major. Bring it higher and higher.  _ Crescendo! _ Before he knew it, kneeling in front of Kravitz was Vecna, the god of all liches, the killer of Death, cuts all over him, and breathing heavy. “ _ HOW? _ ” he thought. “ _ HOW HAVE I WON TO A GOD BUT LOST TO A MORTAL? _ ” 

Once again, he looked up at the shocked face of Kravitz the mortal shadar-kai, and managed a deranged grin, and began to chuckle. “You may have bested me in the moment, mortal, but I am a god! I am a lich! Kill me if you wish, but I will just reform at phylactery! There’s nothing you can do!” He began to slowly pull himself towards his enemy. Kravitz was aghast. 

From behind Vecna, a mist appeared and began to surround Vecna. If one looked close enough, they could see sparkles in it, of ethereal origin. They had both heard from legends what this cursed mist was. These were the mists from Ravenloft, a demiplane in the Shadowfell ruled by forces even more mysterious than the Raven Queen, known simply as the Dark Powers, that captures only the most evil that the multiverse had to offer and imprisoned them with in their own minds. It was a prison impossible to escape, and it seemed as though the Dark Powers had finally decided it was Vecna’s time to pay for all he had done. “ **_NO! NO!_ ** ” Vecna screamed in true fear as realized what was happening. The mists absorbed him, obscuring Kravitz’s vision. Vecna tried to fly or crawl away, but Kravitz’s attacks had truly weakened him. He was helpless. With one last shriek, Vecna reached out at his rival with his one flesh hand. It went dangerously close to Kravitz’s face, but before it could reach him, it fell back into the mists. When they parted, the lich-god was gone. Kravitz, very much to his surprise, had defeated the all-powerful Vecna.


End file.
